


Honest Man

by Arnie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-10
Updated: 2012-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-29 08:05:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arnie/pseuds/Arnie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Greg Lestrade discovers how far Mycroft will go to keep Sherlock safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Honest Man

Greg had to admit it felt good to be finishing up the paperwork on this case. The murders had been disturbing, to say the least, and the criminals had attempted to follow up their killing spree by bumping off Greg's favourite (well, only) consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes. Actually, if John hadn't got there in time, they would have succeeded. Greg rubbed his hands over his face. By the time he'd got there, Sherlock was in an ambulance and on his way to hospital, sirens blaring. There'd been enough of his blood at the scene to show how close a call it had been though.

Well, that was over. Greg had spent hours at the hospital the night before, partly for himself, and partly to be there for John if the worst had happened. Sherlock was, well, if not okay, he was going to be, and would, sooner or later, be back to annoying Greg and his team on a regular basis. Thank God.

No sooner had the report been saved to the system and printed, than there was a knock on the door, and Sally put her head in, a faint look of unease in her eyes. "The prisoners are being transferred."

"Harrap, Collins and Bentley?" That was quick. While they'd have to be transferred to prison to await their trial, the system usually ran a little slower, mainly due to the huge backlog. Maybe some politician had made a promise to get things moving, and this was the start of it. Greg did his best to ignore politics. "So what's the problem with that?"

"No one knows any of the personnel."

Okay, that was odd. The duty sergeant was normally acquainted with at least _some_ of the personnel - usually the driver or some of the warders. "New staff?"

Sally shook her head. "They don't seem to be."

"Okay. Let's have a look at them then." He put on his suit jacket and headed off down the corridor, Sally on his heels.

The three prisoners were just being loaded into the van when they got there. Greg ignored the arrogant smirk Harrap was aiming at him and looked around, mentally adding that to the "something's off" list; normally a prison van would collect all the prisoners waiting for transfer. Harrap might not realise something was wrong, but Greg did.

"Detective Inspector."

Greg gazed at the Detective Chief Inspector smiling at him, and felt outflanked along with outranked. Even if Greg had been willing to kick up a fuss, the presence of a superior officer meant he couldn't - not without getting shut down pretty damn quick. "Prisoner transfer duty?" he murmured, leaning around to stare at the van and the marked police car.

The doors slammed shut. "We all have our orders," the DCI told him, still smiling. He accepted the clipboard handed to him and scrawled his signature. "All present and correct," he said, and handed it back to Greg.

Greg bet it was. The man had 'present and correct' and 'neat and tidy' written all over him.

"Well, we must be going. Detective Inspector, Sergeant."

As he left, sliding into the passenger seat of the police car, Sally muttered, "How did he know I'm a sergeant?"

"He knew us. We just didn't know him." Or any of them. Greg kicked his heels for a moment, then made up his mind and headed back to his office. He was a copper - he'd taken an oath to uphold the law. And those three prisoners were still under the protection of the law, no matter how little they deserved it. Once in his office, with his door shut firmly against the outside world, Greg grabbed his phone and rang the Chief Superintendent. Surprisingly, he got straight through.

Not so surprisingly, the Chief Superintendent knew all about it.

"Greg, I can't give you any details, but the orders came down from on high. _Very_ on high."

"I understand that, sir, but -"

"And I understand your concerns. The prisoners have been transferred and are out of your jurisdiction."

"It's my case." Greg gritted his teeth. "Sir."

"Not any more. Let it go, Greg." And with that the phone went dead.

Greg sighed. Okay, he'd let it go. Officially. Unofficially, he'd do some checking up and find out where those prisoners ended up...just to make sure they got there. He looked at the clock. He could do that this evening; for now, it was time for him to head to the hospital.

~~~

Greg got to Sherlock's room and got the second shock of the day when he found two large men in very expensive suits guarding the door. Sherlock hadn't had guards the day before. If he wasn't mistaken, they were secret service too. "Detective Inspector Lestrade," he said when they made no move to let him pass, "to see Sherlock Holmes." Slowly, he slipped his hand into his pocket and produced his warrant card. Apparently, that was enough to gain him entrance.

The slightly taller man held the door open for Greg. "Detective Inspector Lestrade, sir," he announced.

"To see me, not you!" an annoyed voice snapped.

Greg smiled. Sherlock was awake then. His smile faded as he walked in and a tall man unfolded himself from one of the far-better-than-you'd-ever-find-in-an-NHS-ward chairs and advanced, holding out his hand with an urbane smile.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Detective Inspector. I've heard so much about you."

"This is Sherlock's brother, Mycroft," John put in.

The hair on the back of Greg's neck stood up as he shook the man's hand. Greg had always prided himself on his ability to size up a man and pigeon-hole him correctly; criminal, civilian, or Grade A Pain in the Arse (Sherlock). If Greg had been a betting man, he would have laid a large amount on Mycroft Holmes being very powerful and very, very dangerous. He was also leaving.

"Well, I must be going. Sherlock, I'll be in touch. Do try not to aggravate the doctors this time, hmm? John, good luck keeping him occupied. Detective Inspector."

Greg moved out of the way, and listened as Mycroft and his guards left, wanting to be sure they'd gone before he said anything more.

"Frightening, isn't he?" Sherlock's gaze was fixed on Greg's, and though his skin was so pale as to be almost translucent, his face was alive with mischief.

"He doesn't seem that frightening to me," John put in. "Bad day?"

Greg glanced at him, then looked back at Sherlock. "Yeah, I think so."

"Ah, don't tell me; the miscreants responsible for putting me in here have been...transferred."

"That's what normally happens to prisoners, Sherlock," Greg snapped. "We don't keep them at Scotland Yard."

"So what's wrong with them being transferred?" John asked.

"Don't be naive, John," Sherlock said, his gaze still holding Greg's. "You don't think they'll reach their destination."

Greg looked away, then admitted, "I wasn't sure of that until I met your brother."

"Now you are. Forgive me if I fail to shed tears over the demise of those three." There was a mocking tone in his voice.

Grabbing the rail at the foot of the bed, Greg leaned on it, glaring at Sherlock. "We don't have capital punishment in this country."

Sherlock's eyes opened wide. "Do you honestly believe that? Of course we do - we just don't have it officially."

Greg let go of the bar and sat down, feeling defeated. "I'm an officer of the law. I took an oath."

"And you'll protect them, no matter what." When Greg stayed silent, Sherlock continued, "Go. Run after Mycroft and beg for their lives. Ah, but there's a problem - no proof. I hardly think it would do your career good to accuse a man of Mycroft's standing of being involved in the execution of those men."

"Do you think that would stop me?" Greg demanded.

"No," Sherlock admitted. "But it'll do no good. By now, those men are dead, and you blighting your career won't bring them back to life."

"You don't honestly think Mycroft -" John broke off as Greg looked at him. His face flushed slightly, and he muttered, "Well, I've got no room to talk."

Greg resisted the urge to put his hands over his ears and start singing, "Lalala," just in case John was going to admit anything. But, when he thought about the sudden death of that cabbie, it meant he had no room to talk either. He hadn't investigated that, had he? In fact, he'd been all too happy to sign off on that case without checking John's hands for powder burns. The difference then, of course, had been that Sherlock's life had been in danger. Killing these men had come after they were arrested and were no longer a danger.

"Greg."

He raised his head and gazed at Sherlock. He could count the times Sherlock had called him by his first name on one hand. Actually, he could count them on one finger.

"I'll talk to Mycroft. Try to persuade him that he shouldn't do it again, should the situation arise."

"It better hadn't!" Greg snapped. He was too old to go through the shock of seeing Sherlock lying in a bed, tubes running here, there and everywhere, while his friends sat helplessly by hoping he'd survive.

That amused look was back in Sherlock's eyes. "Well, that would solve the situation, wouldn't it? And if it spares me the sight of you writhing with misplaced guilt, it's all to the good."

"I didn't writhe," Greg replied with dignity.

"No, you kind of wriggled though," John put in.

Greg got to his feet. "I can tell you're feeling better. I'll come by and see you tomorrow."

"Bring me some cases," Sherlock called after him as he left. "I'm bored."

"You're supposed to be resting," John argued.

"I am resting. I need mental stimulation. My brain is atrophying."

"No, it's not."

"It could be!"

Outside the room, Greg shook his head as the argument escalated. He'd bring some cases, if only to save John's sanity. As for the rest, well, he guessed he'd come to terms with that somehow. He didn't have any choice.

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Title borrowed from Gilbert and Sullivan's A Policeman's Lot from Pirates of Penzance.


End file.
